


mind over matter doesn't work with biology

by ballettarius



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Coughing, Fainting, Fever, Sickfic, first YOI fic, sick yurio
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-27 22:21:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10817943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ballettarius/pseuds/ballettarius
Summary: Yuri Plisetsky once screamed so loudly at his own body that he healed a twisted ankle through sheer willpower, so the sensation of a sledgehammer pounding his skull at five in the morning, before he was scheduled to compete, was a totally foreign feeling





	mind over matter doesn't work with biology

**Author's Note:**

> hi! this is my first yoi fic, and I had to write Yuri P! His name will be spelled as Yuri in this, and Yuuri will be spelled as such. I may do a second chapter. I do not own Yuri!!! On Ice
> 
> All errors are mine, this hasn't been proofread
> 
> ~ follow my tumblr if you want! @balletarius ~

Yuri Plisetsky once screamed so loudly at his own body that he healed a twisted ankle through sheer willpower, so the sensation of a sledgehammer pounding his skull at five in the morning, before he was scheduled to compete, was a totally foreign feeling. Nevertheless, he swallowed the cough bubbling in his chest and staggered to a bathroom. He scoffed at his own reflection,  
“I look like death warmed over.” and proceeded to further examine the newfound paleness of his skin. The undereye bags that had been growing steadily throughout the past few weeks had become even more prominent smudges of purple on his ivory skin. The two splotches of red on his cheeks would take forever to correct with makeup before his performance, and the glassiness of his eyes was completely unconcealable.  
He turned from the mirror to grab a hoodie because the room was goddamn freezing, but paused as the tiled floor swam dangerously beneath his feet. “Whoa,” he mumbled, latching onto the door handle to avoid falling on his face. Closing his eyes to stop the spinning of the room, he added taking some advil to his current to do list, right after an attempt to beat up his own brain.  
Getting dressed was only slightly painful, and his body only protested the securing of his hair into a ponytail, so he forwent that step of his routine and loosely braided it instead. By then it was 5:30, so breakfast was not an option. He had to meet Lilia, Yakov, and the rest of the team before 5:45 so they could enter the rink at 6. He knew that skipping a meal was not the best idea, but an angry Lilia was meaner than a snake.  
He snatched his duffle bag, looped the visitor bag around his neck, and began the trek to the elevator. The pattern of the carpet was only slightly confusing, so it made good material to study to avoid eye contact with strangers. Strangers, however, had no problem trying to make eye contact with him.  
“Oh Yurio!” a man gasped behind him, “how wonderful it is to see you!” A wisp of platinum silver hair caught Yuri’s eye, and he groaned inwardly. Of course these bozos chose today to ride the same elevator as him. He was the Ice Tiger of Russia, but they annoyed him to no end. It probably had to do with Victor’s abandonment of him to coach the other Yuuri, after promising him a short program. That whole ordeal got under his skin more than he liked to admit. He was used to the memory stinging a bit, but since when did it make him feel like his face was being melted off? It wasn’t a fever. Yuri refused to let his gold be snatched away by a glorified cold.  
“If it isn’t the geezer and the pig. Tell me Victor, are you here to watch me beat your precious Yuuri, or to make Yakov’s head explode?”  
“Haha, that’s our Yurio, always so…” Victor seemed at a loss for words, and rubbed the back of his head.  
“Spirited!” Yuuri chimed in, before shrinking back behind Victor.  
“I am no one’s Yurio! I’m not property!” Yuri screamed back, with a well placed stomp. It wasn’t a real conversation till he yelled at someone till he was red in the face. “And for the last time, my name is Yu-” A small bought of coughing interrupted his next outburst, but the elevator doors opened at the same moment. Only Yuuri heard it, but he knew better than to interfere with a small, angry russian.  
Yakov’s hand protruded from a clump of skaters, and Yuri headed towards the beacon in all the cloudiness of his mind. His coughs were becoming harder to suppress, and the dizziness he thought he had calmed returned in full force. Maybe I should’ve eaten a protein bar… No time for that now.  
Yuri sat alone in a seat on the bus, with his feet curled into rest level with his tailbone. He leaned his head against the cold window, and the rhythm of the drive lulled him into a light sleep. Mila woke him with a light tap on his shoulder, and a granola bar shoved in his face.  
“I didn’t notice you at breakfast,” She breathed near his ear, “I thought you could use some energy.”  
He nodded his thanks, before peeling the wrapper and forcing the bar down his aching throat. Now that he was awake, his head pounded in beat with the tires of the bus as it bounced over speed bumps and pulled into the rink. Somehow he made it from the bus, through warmups, and off to the sidelines to wait for his turn to skate.  
Standing still allowed him just enough time to fully take in all the pain his body was in. His head was pounding even worse, his throat throbbed, and the entire room around him felt like it was shifting in time to the music. He also was shaking with shivers that ran down his spine and left an aftertaste on his neck. Lilia and Yakov were quarreling about something or other a few feet away, and he took the opportunity to rest against the wall behind him. The skater before him finally finished his short program, and Yakov clapped a hand on Yuri’s shoulder.  
“Make me proud, Yuri. You are young and talented. We believe in you.”  
With a nod, Yuri skated determinedly to the center of the rink. He only had to get through the program, and off the ice. Then he could turn into a chicken for all the judges care, and his score would still be valid. The first strands of his music made their way to his ears, and he launched full throttle into the routine. On a good day it was challenging, but while under the weather it was nearly impossible. Sheer willpower alone got Yuri through the first half. That's when things took a turn for the worst.  
Yuri felt like we was doing way more rotations than were necessary, and the ice beneath his feet began to waver. The beat of his headache matched his music perfectly, and he used it to fuel his final jumps. The spin at the end of the performance proved to be his undoing. It took every ounce of strength he had to not grab his head and melt onto the inviting coolness of the ice. He held the final pose, hands raised above his head, before bowing to signify the end.  
If possible, the room swung side to side even more violently than before, and he could barely make out Yakov’s face as it shifted from pride, to confusion, than to worry. He braced his hands on the barrier, because he was going to make that score count, dammit. And stepped shakily onto the ground. His feet barely touched down, and his body completely gave up. It was like the signal that his body had needed all day. All the pent up pain and exhaustion hit full throttle and Yakov could only watch as his young trainee’s eyes rolled up in his head, and he crashed to the ground, catching his head on a badly placed bench.  
“Yuri!”


End file.
